377 When a Woman Ascends the Stairs

[artfilmfan]

I, too, had a delayed response to this film. The first time I watched it (on VHS), I could only make it through half way. About six months later, I watched the second half. After seeing that train station scene at the end of the film, I was convinced of the greatness of the film. It is now my second favorite Naruse film, behind only Floating Clouds (which is my most favorite Japanese film).

I'll need to watch it again to be able to fully discuss it; but a few impressions fondly stick in my mind: the story and how it is told, the visual compositions, the beautiful B&W widescreen photography, the acting, and the soundtrack.

My thought on the title is that it is poetic. It suggests some "mystery" to follow. I've always thought that it is just a lead-in. When I read "When a Woman Ascends the Stairs", my thought is " ... what happens ?"

[Mr Sausage]

Just a reminder: the discussion closes in four days, if anyone wants to get in some last comments.

There hasn't been as much discussion for this film as the previous two; maybe you're like me and find it hard to come up with things to say about it.

[domino harvey]

Just a reminder: the discussion closes in four days, if anyone wants to get in some last comments.

There hasn't been as much discussion for this film as the previous two; maybe you're like me and find it hard to come up with things to say about it.

...which is why I didn't vote for it even though I'd already seen it!

[swo17]

Hey, it did spark a fair amount of discussion in the Naruse thread though. Also, there have been three new posts just today.

[Jonathan S]

Having just also re-visited Mizoguchi's Sisters of the Gion, I'm struck by how both films present a series of options to their women protagonists and seem to conclude that all are equally bad (and the "life goes on" coda to Naruse's is hardly less bleak than Mizoguchi's cul-de-sac). Even the "nice guys" in both films prove to be very deceptive. Whichever path you choose in life, you'll get fucked, literally and/or metaphorically. The women in Naruse's film are all forced to prostitute themselves in one way or another and one reading might be that (as the "bad" sister in Mizoguchi's believes) you might as well be brazen about it and get what you can. Maybe Naruse was even reflecting back on his own career, as it's also a film about the blurring of boundaries between love/sex and work (i.e. prostitution in all its forms).

Every time Keiko goes up those stairs, she comes closer and closer to full acceptance of reality.

As I watched, I was thinking that "upstairs" - referred to as "another world" in the film - symbolised the opposite, i.e. a world of fantasy (as in, say, Ray's Bigger than Life). But I suppose I was considering it more from the male customers' viewpoint. The women certainly have to work hard to create and sustain that fantasy upstairs world - "appearance is everything," we're told - with their expensive kimonos and perfumes. Is there significance in the fact the rival's bar is located downstairs? Maybe it's just to show that it's really the stairs that matter, not whether they go up or down, as one always travels in the other direction at some point.

The theme of performance or acting is certainly prominent in the film but again the boundaries between this and reality are often blurred. Keiko's bed appears to be on a stage, framed by curtains on either side, yet this is most obvious in the scene where she surrenders to the man she genuinely loves.

The film itself is certainly grounded in a level of realism, and at times feels like a semi-documentary with its many location shots and Keiko's voice-over narration commenting generally on her world as well as her personal life. It also seems to announce itself as a very modern film, with its Saul Bass-like opening credits, vibraphone jazz score, Scope photography and sharp, economical editing style in many scenes.

Would it have been surprising in a 1960 Japanese film to see the (English) word "LAVATORY" so prominently and frequently in the cafe scene where Yuri discusses her plan to fake suicide? (I can't resist the parallel with Hitchcock notoriously including an actual lavatory in Psycho the same year.) Naruse includes the lavatory door sign in the background of so many shots in that scene - often behind the women, even bang in the centre of the frame between them - that it seems to comment on Yuri's disastrous plan if not the lives of both women "going down the toilet".

[Michael Kerpan]

I watched the BFI DVD version of this for the first time, and noticed missing subtitles in several spots. My sense is that the print source used for this may not have been as good as the one one used by World Artists for its VHS version long ago -- ravages of time and all that...

I can't say that I that there were any new discoveries this time around. I have more or less memorized large chunks of the film by this point. Re-watching this did confirm that Keiko keeps on giving and giving to her ne'er-do-well (and/or greedy) family members (even if under protest) far beyond the point that she can afford to do so. Also, Keiko is no more a prostitute than any other person who works in a profession which involves attracting customers and keeping them pleased enough to keep returning.

One thing I noticed (again) is just how wonderful the performances were -- seeming quite "organic" -- though one knows they were assembled bit by bit out of little snippets filmed in a disconnected fashion (whatever was the fastest and most economical fashion).

[Jonathan S]

Keiko is no more a prostitute than any other person who works in a profession which involves attracting customers and keeping them pleased enough to keep returning.

I was struck by the parallels with the independent classical CD shop where I used to work. It depended heavily on a small number of regular customers - wealthy older men (like those in the film) who spent hundreds of pounds every week. My colleagues and particularly the shop owners fawned over them, making cups of coffee and chatting sometimes for hours. It was evident that (as in the film) some of these customers were lonely, preferring to pay much more for the "service" at our shop than for the same product at a more anonymous outlet or over the internet. Yet they were intelligent men and surely must have realised that we ridiculed or at best pitied them as soon as they were out the door.

As someone who'd rather have another person's honest contempt than dishonest flattery, I find it hard to understand why anyone would not only want the latter but pay for the dubious privilege. Of course, I did understand why the shop owners felt the need to pamper these customers and my inability to emulate them made me realise I was completely unsuited to my role.

[Michael Kerpan]

Curiously enough, around a million years ago, I was in charge of the LP department of the University of Chicago Book Store (a more-or-less student-run operation in the basement of Bartlett Hall*, the main student dining hall). In all honesty, I did not feel any contempt for my customers. In some ways, this was the job I enjoyed most in my 45 or so years of working. ;~}

* note: not sure this WAS called Bartlett in my era, but it is today.

[Jack Phillips]

As I watched, I was thinking that "upstairs" - referred to as "another world" in the film - symbolised the opposite, i.e. a world of fantasy (as in, say, Ray's Bigger than Life). But I suppose I was considering it more from the male customers' viewpoint. The women certainly have to work hard to create and sustain that fantasy upstairs world - "appearance is everything," we're told - with their expensive kimonos and perfumes. Is there significance in the fact the rival's bar is located downstairs?

Downstairs is preferable to upstairs--presumably, it's easier to entice clients downwards. Upstairs means doing some work to get where you're going, a less tempting prospect for an affluent (i.e. older) customer. Of course, the client has to climb out of a downstairs establishment, but only after he's gone in and paid. Given the relative attractiveness of a downstairs location, then, I think it's safe to presume they have higher rents. So we are being shown the fact that the rival establishment is a better financed and/or more prosperous operation than the one being run by Takamine's character.

[Michael Kerpan]

I don't think that upstairs, downstairs or ground level signifies much in terms of hostess bar prestige. The decor, the classiness of the hostesses and overall atmosphere probably count for much more.

[Jack Phillips]

I don't think that upstairs, downstairs or ground level signifies much in terms of hostess bar prestige. The decor, the classiness of the hostesses and overall atmosphere probably count for much more.

I think it's interesting that when Takamine and Nakadai are thinking about striking out on their own, they view a location they ultimately reject. Part of the problem with the new property is with the shared toilet, of course, but it's obviously a down-market location. And it's upstairs again.

Today, with elevators in almost every multi-storied building, this is not such an issue. I think it was in 1960.

[Sloper]

Keiko is no more a prostitute than any other person who works in a profession which involves attracting customers and keeping them pleased enough to keep returning.

I have to disagree a little bit - I definitely overstated the case in my earlier post when I said that Keiko would henceforth be ‘prostituting herself to whoever can help stave off the debt’, but I was thinking of her speech to her mother, where she says how much she hates this job, and being ‘a plaything for men’ as the Criterion subtitles have it. There’s a big difference between simply being nice to customers in the hope that they will come back and the flirting and pawing these hostesses have to put up with. Whether or not Keiko will ‘give in’ to one or more of the various men who try to bribe her into having sex with them is the issue around which much of the film revolves - Keiko herself clearly sees this as the last straw, the compromise she isn’t willing to make. She might not hate her job so much if it were simply about being gracious and welcoming to customers.

I saw her return of the bonds to Fujisaki as indicating that she was not willing to be ‘paid off’ by him (because she loves him) but I also thought that this sacrifice would necessitate more compromises further down the line. Sooner or later, she’ll need to get money from some other source, and this time it will be someone like Goda (the creepy one played by the Edward G. Robinson-esque Ganjiro Nakamura) rather than someone she is actually in love with.

When Junko says Goda helped her buy her own bar, Keiko evidently knows what this transaction would have involved; why does she laugh at this moment? Perhaps she’s amused by the fluidity of Goda’s affections, relieved that she won’t have to deal with him anymore, maybe even a little contemptuous of Junko for selling herself like this.

I had thought that her laugh might signal a sort of ironic recognition that she, Keiko, might have to compromise in the same way if she is to hold her own amid this sort of competition. A bitter, self-mocking laugh, in other words. However, having watched the film a couple more times and followed the discussion in this thread, I think I misjudged the extent of the pessimism at the end of the film.

As I watched, I was thinking that "upstairs" - referred to as "another world" in the film - symbolised the opposite, i.e. a world of fantasy (as in, say, Ray's Bigger than Life). But I suppose I was considering it more from the male customers' viewpoint. The women certainly have to work hard to create and sustain that fantasy upstairs world - "appearance is everything," we're told - with their expensive kimonos and perfumes.

You’re right, Jonathan, and I think from Keiko’s point of view ascending the stairs means having to put the mask back on, to perform for those male customers who pay for what is (as you point out) a fantasy. I’m now not so sure that climbing the stairs signals a series of compromises; rather, it signals the constant struggle that defines Keiko’s life, and primarily this is the struggle not to compromise. She says at the start that she hates climbing the stairs, and she’s essentially longing for an easier life. Nothing is ever easy for Keiko in this film. Every scene, every conversation, every person she encounters presents her with some fresh challenge, some demand, some obstacle, some form of abuse, some reason why her latest plan just isn’t going to work out, and indeed some new opportunity to compromise her integrity. It’s not totally unlike Oharu in that sense, except that what defines Keiko’s struggle is her determination to see everything through without compromising more than she absolutely has to.

Until the other day, I think I was reading that last shot (Keiko smiling and welcoming her customers) as conveying the same message as the very similar ending to La Signora Senza Camelie. That is, Keiko’s voiceover, in which she declares her intention to remain strong against whatever adverse conditions come her way, seemed to me deluded, a vain effort to deny the reality of her situation - and I thought her final performance in the bar was a chilling signal that she would henceforth have to bury her ‘true’ self deeper than ever from now on.

But I think this was a mis-reading. Her voiceover (and the absence of the close-up of her feet climbing the stairs, which I noted before) tells us that Keiko has now accepted and come to terms, not with the idea of compromise, but with the idea of struggle: she’s saying, ‘Okay, every step will be a battle; now I just have to get on with it’. The final encounters with Fujisaki (whom she loves) and Komatsu (who loves her) contribute to the sense of a ‘clean break’ with the painful past in which there might have been chances for real happiness, for that relatively easy life she had longed for. Knowing this life just isn’t an option brings a certain comfort; something like the hard-nosed form of ‘mono no aware’ Richie talks about a lot in his commentary. (Is this concept more about the sadness of transience, or the philosophical acceptance of it? Or a bit of both? Would be interested to hear from someone well-informed...)

What we see at the end is the ‘hostess’ in all her glory, smiling and greeting her guests with as much dignity as charm, without ‘prostituting herself’ and without quite letting anybody else take ownership of her. We don’t see her guests, so it almost feels as though we are placed in their position: as well as being a potentially confrontational move (cf. the ending of Osaka Elegy), this also has the effect, perhaps, of leaving Keiko among friends, since we as an audience can pretty much be guaranteed to regard her with empathy and respect. I think it’s a slightly low-angle shot as well, which helps.

Giving the bonds back to Fujisaki doesn’t plunge Keiko into a spiral of degradation and compromise, it re-affirms her strength of will; and from what we’ve seen throughout the film, we know that under any and all circumstances, however hard things may get, she will always be resourceful enough to find a solution that allows her to go on living with herself.

I should say that I’m not passing any judgement on, say, Junko, for using sex to get what she wants, or suggesting that the compromises in question necessarily entail a loss of integrity and dignity - but Keiko evidently thinks they do, and it’s her point of view I’m trying to describe. Whether this is the film’s point of view or not is perhaps another question. Keiko’s passion, integrity and sensitivity come through beautifully thanks to Takamine’s performance, which reveals more and more layers every time I watch it - she’s an astonishingly subtle actress - but the way the film is shot and edited seems to me of a piece with the rather detached, ironic score, and the compulsive focus on money that pervades the entire film. In other words, I think this is one of those films where the camera seems to inhabit and be a part of that same world against which the protagonist is battling (as in the films of Antonioni or Pakula), rather than being especially empathic. There’s a coldness to the way Keiko’s struggle is observed, and to the clockwork progression of the plot, which both prevents the melodrama from getting overheated (because each setback seems natural and expected, rather than a cause for wailing and gnashing of teeth) and adds to the pathos (because it heightens the protagonist’s isolation). Again, I think the final shot - a confrontation between the determined heroine and the camera that now occupies the position of that harsh, dry-eyed world she is trying to survive in - reinforces this effect.

Would it have been surprising in a 1960 Japanese film to see the (English) word "LAVATORY" so prominently and frequently in the cafe scene where Yuri discusses her plan to fake suicide? (I can't resist the parallel with Hitchcock notoriously including an actual lavatory in Psycho the same year.) Naruse includes the lavatory door sign in the background of so many shots in that scene - often behind the women, even bang in the centre of the frame between them - that it seems to comment on Yuri's disastrous plan if not the lives of both women "going down the toilet".

I noticed this as well! Your reading sounds quite persuasive. That whole sequence, from the scene where Yuri confides in Keiko about her plans, to the aftermath of her suicide, is easily the best part of the film for me. It exemplifies perfectly the kind of hard-nosed pathos I was just talking about.

[Michael Kerpan]

Sloper -- really great post!